


First Light, Putney Heath, London.

by MissSally



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, death of (very) minor characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSally/pseuds/MissSally
Summary: The week in London following the Sanditon fire.Sidney is there to help his brother by finding investors.Babington is there to help his friend.Crowe is there to help anyone who needs it.Sir Edward Denham is there too.
Relationships: Lord Babington/Esther Denham
Comments: 128
Kudos: 86





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Headcannon Admin:
> 
> This is a thread I pulled from Chapter Fifteen of my Babington & Esther Drabbles and so the first bit of Chapter One will be familiar but not quite the same.
> 
> Babington's name is Frederick Henry, but everyone calls him Harry.
> 
> Deacon is Babington's butler.
> 
> Babington's London house is in Mayfair.
> 
> Not hugely important but, to make this work, Sanditon happens in about 1805-ish and any mentions that might be made of other literary characters are not done accidentally.

* * *

A gentle breeze, scented with blossom after the heat of a London summer’s day, cooled the air inside the magnificent ballroom at Carlton House. It also provided welcome relief from the warmth of the saloon for two old friends who, having lost a lot of money in a shockingly short space of time to that lucky rogue Mr Crowe, now stood watching the dancing and picking over the gossip they had heard at the gaming tables.

‘Oh, my dear! Did you hear Mr Crowe say that Lord Babington is to be married?!’ Lady Sarah Blackstone exclaimed as she caught sight of the gentleman in question across the room.

‘Yes! I could not quite believe it,’ Mrs Knowles’ gaze flickered over to the group, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young lord and his intended. ‘Did Mr Crowe say whether the lady is here tonight?’

‘No, neither did I catch her name. Mr Crowe was at the table behind me,’ Lady Blackstone said, disappointed to see not to see any ladies with Lord Babington’s group. ‘Of course, I could not help but overhear parts of his conversation.’

‘ _Of course_ ,’ Mrs Knowles said, and the two ladies exchanged a look of understanding.

‘By the time I was able to move tables,’ Lady Blackstone continued, ‘Mr Crowe was too absorbed in his game play to want to converse.’

‘Fortunately, Mr Parker’s lady is less elusive than Lord Babington’s,’ Mrs Knowles said watching as Mrs Campion crossed the floor towards the group they observed.

‘I heard nothing more than they are reacquainted?’ Lady Blackstone gasped.

‘Oh, there is no announcement yet,’ Mrs Knowles said gleefully. ‘ _And_ I heard a rumour that she may be keener than he.’

‘Mr Parker did seem very close to that lady at Mrs Maudsley’s masque.’ Lady Blackstone mused.

‘But I do not see her here tonight?.’ Mrs Knowles glanced around the crowded room. ‘However, I did see the Duchess of Ancaster’s new _acquaintance_ at the tables, absorbed in, _and_ absorbing so much more than just gameplay!’ She smiled at her friend knowingly

‘Ah, yes,’ Lady Blackstone dropped her voice conspiratorially. ‘Sir Edward Denham. Handsome devil, I must say. Charming too, even whilst heavily intoxicated’

‘Aren’t they always?’ Mrs Knowles said wickedly and then laughed as Lady Blackstone gasped before dissolving into giggles behind her hand.

‘And of course,’ Lady Blackstone said, recovering. ‘Sir Edward is not only a devilishly handsome but also scandalously disowned by his family. Though I cannot recall why,’ she sighed with practised nonchalance. ‘This town is veritably awash with handsome, disgraced, rakish young gentlemen. The tales of their undoing are so interchangeable.’

‘I’ve heard it was drink and women, but also that it was gambling or fraud and forgery.’ Mrs Knowles’ eyes flashed with pleasure. ‘Of course, unless Sir Edward does something _truly_ dreadful and makes a name for himself, his story is not worth learning as he will doubtless be gone as soon as he arrived.’

‘Well, whatever the reason, the fact is he was cut off without a penny nor hope of inheritance.’ Lady Blackstone beckoned to a passing footman with a tray of full glasses. ‘So, one must applaud the Duchess of Ancaster and her like for their generosity.’ She took two glasses of champagne from the tray and gave one to her friend.

‘And, given the rate at which these ladies change their _patronage_ , one must also applaud their stamina,’ Mrs Knowles remarked smilingly as Lady Blackstone narrowly escaped choking on her champagne.

* * *

As the reception at Carlton House came to its close, Sidney stood on the quiet terrace with Babington, Crowe and their friend of many years, Lord Dewhurst. All were smoking, watching the few remaining groups in the gardens disperse as calls for waiting carriages came from the ballroom steps and columned portico at the garden entrance.

It had, Sidney admitted to himself, been more enjoyable an evening than he had expected. After three days of polite dismissals from investors and thinly veiled derision from bankers, Sidney knew he had exhausted almost all possibilities and now there was only one way this was going to be resolved. Tonight, to have spent a few hours amongst friends tonight without need to impress or reassure anyone had been a welcome distraction.

And the Prince Regent’s claret really was very good.

‘Babington,’ Dewhurst smiled at his old friend, ‘I will say again. I cannot believe you are to wed finally!’ He laughed at Babington’s wide grin.

Sidney grinned too and clapped Babington on the shoulder. ‘Yes, Dewhurst. He has been tamed!’

‘Not much to tame in the first place if you ask me,’ Crowe said dryly as he lent on the balustrade and took a long drag on his cheroot

‘I am deeply intrigued to meet her,’ Dewhurst said. ‘Is the lady coming to London soon?’

‘Well,’ Babington began, but Sidney interrupted him

‘You must come to dine at Bedford Place later this week, Dewhurst,’ Sidney said, fighting a smile that he knew would give him away as he looked at Babington. ‘Miss Denham and my brother’s wife, Mary, will be staying as my guests.’

‘I should be delighted!’ Dewhurst laughed.

‘Esther will be here this week?’ Babington stared at Sidney in disbelief. In the midst of all his troubles, Parker had thought to invite Esther to London?

‘I expect Mary and Miss Denham at Bedford Place tomorrow afternoon,’ Sidney said, and he grinned triumphantly at Babington’s clear delight.

‘But how?’ Babington asked. ‘When?’

‘I needed to speak with Mary, and Mary needed a travelling companion.’ Sidney said casually. In truth, he was in desperate need of Mary’s calm, wise council and had written asking her to come. Almost as an afterthought, he had suggested she invite Miss Denham also and seeing Babington’s expression shift from surprise to joy, he was very glad he had.

‘And Esther never said a word in her letters!’ Babington laughed and shook his head.

‘Miss Denham has an unreadable countenance in person,’ Crowe said with begrudging admiration. ’It is no wonder she can be relied upon to be so on paper. Clever work, Parker!’ Sidney bowed his head in acceptance. ‘I do wonder that I might recruit your Miss Denham as a card partner, Babbers. She could be an asset to my game play. Tonight, the stakes were so high in the salon I made a disgustingly large amount, but with Miss Denham our triumphs could be exorbitant!’

‘Remind me to show you next time that Carlton House extends beyond the gaming tables,’ Babington said frowning in mock concern at his friend.

‘Ugh!’ Crowe scowled and tossed his cheroot over the balustrade to the flowerbed below. ‘To what end? There is no better way to pass the time.’ He gestured beyond Sidney towards the house and continued ‘Especially as I took a good amount of tin off that Duchess’ toy tonight.’ 

Sidney turned, curious. The tall unsteady figure of Sir Edward Denham was picking his way down the stone steps, an empty glass in his hand. Looking up, Edward saw the four gentlemen and was about to continue without comment when he stopped, his lips twisting into a sneer.

‘Babington,’ he spat as he recognised his sister’s protector. He steadied himself against handrail and risked an exaggerated bow.

‘Denham.’ Babington managed a passably sincere nod of greeting. 

Sir Edward rolled his eyes and continued down the steps, mistiming the last and stumbling as he reached the terrace. Sidney did not bother to muffle his snort of derision. ‘Get yourself away Denham, you are a disgrace.’

‘I advise you to look closer to home before you make such accusations,’ Sir Edward found his balance and smirked at Sidney. ‘Your brother and his vanity project?’ Crowe reacted with a speed that belied the amount of claret in his bloodstream and his hand was tight on Sidney’s arm to restrain him before Sir Edward had even finished talking.

‘You,’ Crowe addressed Denham before Sidney had the chance to, his tone bored and derisory, ‘are hardly in any position to . . ‘

‘I am a titled gentleman, not some upstart businessman,’ Sir Edward interrupted angrily, knocking into one of the large floral arrangements placed on the balustrade and sending it spinning.

‘You are a rich widow’s ornament of which she will soon tire,’ Crowe said dismissively, taking the smouldering end of Dewhurst’s cheroot from his hand and using it to light another for himself.

Anger flashed across Sir Edward’s face, and he moved closer to the group his eyes fixing on Babington. ‘Will you say _nothing_ , Babington?’

‘I have heard nothing that requires comment,’ Babington forced himself to follow Crowe’s example and kept his tone light, his expression amused.

‘God damn you Babington!’ Sir Edward hissed, and the delicate crystal wine glass broke as his fingers clumsily tightened around it sending the bowl to the ground leaving him with the long stem. ‘You surround yourself with this,’ Sir Edward swayed slightly as he stood in front of Babington, ‘this . . . court of slanderers.’ He gestured vaguely to the three men and then Sidney in particular. ‘You are blinded by misplaced loyalty to this man and his _tradesman_ brother and so indulge the venom of my aunt and you listen whilst _she_ so prettily spins you in her lies and denials.’ Sir Edward smiled as he saw Babington’s calm expression begin to twitch and lent closer ‘You know nothing of the _years_ we spent together,’ he stumbled again and had to catch himself heavily against Babington who grimaced briefly.

‘Have a care, man!’ Dewhurst stepped between them grabbing Sir Edward by his shoulders to push him away, not bothering to hide his disgust as he swept his eyes over him. ‘God, look at the state of you.’ He disdainfully plucked at Edward’s cravat and cuffs, ‘just another drunken fool dressed in linens too fine for his purse.’ 

‘Be a _man_ Babington,’ Sir Edward, shaking with self righteous indignation, ignored Dewhurst and looked past him to Babington. ‘Stop letting her distract you with those teasing little games of hers. _Ask_ her! And watch her try to deny it. _’_ Then he clumsily twisted his shoulders free from Dewhurst and turned unsteadily away, the remains of the wine glass slipping unheeded from his hand and shattering on the terrace. Dewhurst watched him carefully as he made the stairs then looked towards Crowe who was grinding his cheroot out under his heel with an air of disinterest, but his eyes were on Babington and his cheroot had only been half smoked.

Sidney, bristling with anger, stubbed out his own cheroot and then turned to his friend. ’How do you tolerate it, Babington?’.

‘To rise to him is to provoke him,’ Babington’s jaw was tight, his body tense as though holding himself back, left hand fisted by his side, right hand pressed into his left side under his tailcoat where Denham’s stumble had winded him. He fixed his eyes on Sir Edward’s retreating figure. ‘Denham’s time will come, I promise you. But that time is not now.’ There was a slight blurring on Babington’s words and Sidney frowned at him, his eyes growing wide as Babington seemed to sink in on himself. ‘Gentlemen, I . . . ‘ Babington said quietly. But, now that Sir Edward was out of sight, Crowe and Dewhurst were already pushing past Sidney to reach Babington.

‘Quick, let’s get him inside,’ Dewhurst said, his voice low and urgent.


	2. TWO

* * *

Crowe and Dewhurst quickly guided Babington into a small empty anteroom that overlooked the terrace, Sidney close behind them. Immediately they were inside and the door was closed, Babington groped gratefully for the wall and leaned heavily back against it.

Now Sidney saw the blood seeping out between the fingers of Babington’s hand still pressed into his side. ‘Babington! Christ!’ Sidney had suspected something, Denham’s off-balance stumble into Babington had been heavy, but the shock of seeing blood made suspicion into frightening reality. ‘Denham?’

‘The wineglass,’ Crowe said, swallowing thickly.

‘This. Cannot. Be. Known.’ Babington ground out from behind his teeth. He looked pointedly at his three friends, clutching his hand tightly against his side and trying not to double over. Dewhurst nodded slightly, Babington was always good natured and so when his stubborn certainty surfaced it was normally with good, sometimes with good but misguided, reason. Dewhurst reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and pushed it under Babington’s hand, pressing his own on top. He then glanced at Crowe who had pre-empted Dewhurst’s next thought and was already pulling at his own cravat.

‘Might as well be mine,’ Crowe said trying to keep a shakiness out of his voice. He shrugged at Dewhurst. ‘It’s more believable for me to lose mine than you yours.’

‘Briefly gentlemen,’ Dewhurst said briskly but lightly, removing his tailcoat as he spoke as whether this would be known or not, Babington would need bandaging. ‘How much of Sir Edward Denham is spit and ire and how much is gunpowder?’

Crowe forced his shaking hands to fold his cravat into a neat square and looked at Babington. His friend’s expression was tight with pain but set with absolute certainty that he was right and would not listen to argument and, irritatingly, Babington _was_ right. This went far beyond an annoying drunk with a wounded pride. Injuring a friend of the Prince Regent, at a ball at the home of the Prince Regent was exactly the kind of thing that would get everyone talking about Sir Edward Denham. London society would revel in the details and Denham’s notoriety would grow. It would only be a matter of time before people started listening to and delighting in his tales of lies and scandal.

‘All gunpowder. Babbers needs to walk out of this room as though nothing has happened,’ Crowe said quietly but firmly, looking Dewhurst in the eye as he silently thanked whichever deity or chance deemed it appropriate for Dewhurst to be with them for this. Crowe swallowed again. Forcing down those decade or more old memories soaked and scented with blood and adrenaline; himself and Babington, not yet turned twenty, on the periphery of events much larger than themselves.

‘What? Crowe!’ Sidney exclaimed at Crowe’s words as Babington seemed to sigh with relief at them. Crowe’s declaration was enough for Dewhurst who, now with his sleeves rolled up, began to ease Babington’s tailcoat off his shoulders.

‘Think. Parker.’ Babington breathed, moving his hand away from his side as Crowe pressed the thick square of cravat firmly over the handkerchief and held it in place. ‘Denham. Esther. Sanditon. Tom. You.’ Each word a single breath now.

Sidney stared at Babington as consequences triggered one after another in his mind. He knew more than enough of the vile ballroom politics and machinations to draw a very plausible line of events. Sir Edward Denham had gunpowder enough in his lies and twisted realities to not only ruin Miss Denham but also ruin Sanditon’s reputation beyond redemption. Fashionable society thrilled to scandals and salacious gossip and would throw stones with a raucous glee of bloodlust from their high ivory towers. They had an absolute, deadly accuracy.

Babington was right. What had just passed between Babington and Denham must not become known of. Sidney took a deep breath and dropped his head. ‘What do we do?’ he asked.

‘It has been a while since we did this, gentlemen,’ Dewhurst said calmly addressing Crowe and Babington as he removed a large white cloth that pooled extravagantly over a small table by the door. ‘But I am sure we will remember the gameplay soon enough.’ This last spoken with a startling confidence as Dewhurst smiled reassuringly at Sidney.

‘Gameplay?’ Sidney’s resignation to secrecy was now replaced with hot anger. _Gameplay?_ His friend was grower paler by the moment and Dewhurst thought this a game?! And a while since they did what exactly? Sidney glared at Dewhurst as Crowe beckoned him over to assist in getting Babington a little more comfortable.

‘Did you order your carriage to the garden or the front?’ Dewhurst asked, as Crowe and Sidney helped Babington to the floor.

‘G-Garden,’ Babington said. Dewhurst nodded, pleased. ‘Den . . . Denham?,’ Babington then asked sharply, looking at Dewhurst as his friends helped him to sit. The blood was now blossoming in small clouds on the edges of the cravat and he hissed as Crowe pressed his hand more firmly against him.

‘Uninjured and unmarked from what I could see,’ Dewhurst said beginning to tear the cloth into strips, the fine linen barely making a sound as it tore. ‘No blood on cuffs and no cuts on his hand. He was so drunk I doubt he knew what happened.’

‘Doubtless we would have heard some reaction of it by now.’ Crowe added. He nodded his head towards the ballroom and took out his hipflask, helped Babington take a long swig from it as Sidney held the cravat in place. Crowe was beginning to feel ludicrously calm now, remembering what it was to focus on the hand that was dealt, not the stakes of the bet. ‘Worth checking though?’

Dewhurst looked at Babington, then Crowe. Then Sidney.

‘Parker,’ he said. ‘See if you can find Denham in the ballroom? I very much doubt he’s raising hell in there but just in case.’

Sidney nodded and stood up, Dewhurst taking his place at Babington’s side as Crowe began to undo the buttons on Babington’s waistcoat.

‘And bring back a glass of claret, Parker,’ Crowe said as Sidney crossed towards the door. Sidney whipped back round. ‘For the _blood_ Parker.’

‘He’s right,’ Dewhurst said gently, seeing the disbelief on Sidney’s face.

* * *

Sidney forced himself to breathe deeply and, by the time he had walked back along the length of the terrace, he had managed to adopt the calmly agitated air of a gentleman at the end of a very pleasant evening who wished for his life that his carriage would just arrive now and take him home.

It took a matter of moments for Sidney to locate Edward Denham. Far from raising hell, Denham seemed to be having problems raising himself from the velvet chaise he was lounging upon at the edge of the ballroom. A heavily bejewelled, dangerously handsome lady was vaguely encouraging him to rouse himself but seemed in no hurry herself to leave. More importantly, Denham’s drunken hands wandering freely over the woman’s light coloured silk dress left no trace of blood in their wake.

Sidney watched them, feeling more relieved as he did so. If Denham knew what he had done he either did not care or had already forgotten. Dewhurst was likely correct; Denham was so drunk he did not realise what had happened.

Remembering just in time to take a glass of claret from an obliging footman, Sidney made his way back along the terrace.

* * *

Sidney found Crowe leaning casually in the anteroom’s doorway, smoking. Crowe raised a lazy eyebrow and Sidney shook his head.

‘Excellent,’ Crowe grinned and carelessly tossed his cheroot away. It was barely touched, Sidney realised.

‘Well, Babington,’ Dewhurst was saying as Crowe and Sidney came in. ‘You have a good few yards of the Prince’s finest tablecloth under there, it should hold for a while.’ Dewhurst smiled and gently touched a fingertip to Babington’s waistcoat that was now pulled tighter than before with the extra layers of bandaging underneath it. He looked intently up at Crowe from his position crouched at Babington’s side. ‘We are going to need help. Who do we know who is in town?’

‘Laffey. I ran in to him at White’s a few days ago,’ Crowe said. He and Dewhurst had bandaged Babington with a speed and efficiency buried deep into the memory of both their hands. But the small wound, glimpsed briefly before they applied the linens, was worryingly jagged and looked deep. It needed a doctor, one who could be trusted to stay quiet. ‘The rogue took 50 guineas off me at the tables.’

‘Laffey?’ Sidney asked, placing the glass of claret on the table and joining Crowe at Babington’s side as Crowe helped him to sit up again. Babington grimaced and cursed, took another swig from Crowe’s hipflask that he was still holding.

‘Battlefield surgeon, one of Napoleon’s finest.’ Dewhurst said as he stood and rolled his sleeves back down. Then, seeing Sidney’s surprise at the mention of Napoleon he added, ‘and an old friend.’

‘Laffey has taken rooms on Piccadilly,’ Crowe said, watching Babington closely whilst also eyeing up the sizable remains of tablecloth. He squinted at it, shrugged and tore a thin strip.

‘Excellent. I will get word to Deacon and fetch Laffey to Mayfair.’ Dewhurst said.

‘Mayfair is hardly the place if you want no one to know?’ Sidney said. It was known that Babington’s Mayfair townhouse was always open as a place to stay for his closest friends and invariably had people coming and going at all times.

‘Apart from it being the closest place, sometimes normality is the best secrecy,’ Dewhurst said.

‘Simplest too,’ Babington murmured quietly, his eyes closed, brow tense.

‘Besides,’ Dewhurst continued, pulling on his tailcoat. ‘Deacon will remember how it plays.’ 

Crowe nodded. He was now loosely tying the cloth strip as a makeshift cravat. It would not pass close inspection but would prevent any casual observer from wondering why he did not have one.

‘Carriage for Lord Dewhurst,’ The call from the ballroom echoed along the terrace.

‘Good,’ Dewhurst said. ‘Crowe?’ he looked at his young friend and the two of them quickly began clearing the room of all trace of what had occurred; the tablecloth was put back albeit no longer clouding on the floor, a long, bloodied strip of linen they had used to wipe their hands on was quickly folded in on itself, tightly rolled and then Crowe hesitated, looked at himself and then at Sidney.

‘Put this in your pocket,’ he said. ‘You’re better attired for it than I am.’ Sidney wordlessly did as he was asked, but his puzzlement led Crowe to add; ‘all black,’ indicating Sidney’s dark breeches and tailcoat.

Crowe knelt and placed his hand gently on Babington’s shoulder, smiling as Babington opened his eyes. ‘Let’s get you back into that ruinously expensive tailcoat and home for some embroidery, Babbers.’

Dewhurst came and stood in front of the three friends. ‘Ready?’ He asked. Babington took a deep breath and nodded. Carefully, swiftly Crowe and Sidney got Babington to his feet. Babington exhaled sharply though his nose and straightened up, Crowe helping him with his tailcoat. Immediately, Babington slipped his right hand under it, pressing to his left side, breathing quickly and heavily through gritted teeth.

‘Carriage for Lord Babington,’ another call, this time from the garden entrance.

Well done, gentlemen,’ Dewhurst said, glancing around the room and then quickly scrutinising the three men and himself. He was checking for blood, Sidney realised. Dewhurst’s gaze lingered on Babington. The blood did not show on the dark waistcoat and was hidden anyway by Babington’s coat and arm, but there was a clear red stain on the top of Babington’s cream breeches.

‘Spilt your drink Babbers,’ Crowe smiled at his friend. ‘Or more likely, I spilt mine.’ Crowe turned and found himself grinning at Sidney, he had forgotten what this maddening rush of danger and excitement felt like. With the sure grace of a dancer, Crowe took the glass of claret from the table and approached Babington. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ he said, gauged the angle, flicked his wrist and successfully covered the blood stain with dark red wine before dripping what was left on the glass over his own cream breeches.

Sidney had to admit, to a casual observer in the low light of the garden it would look as though Crowe had knocked into Babington with a full glass and Babington had come off worse. He himself had been on the receiving end of such drunken clumsiness on more than one occasion.

‘Good, let us go for our carriages,’ Dewhurst said.

Sidney looked at Babington who before his eyes was making himself appear for all the world as the gentleman and kind friend known to all. He dropped his shoulders, straightened his posture and pulled his breathing down from its quick, fast pace. Then Babington grimaced, finished the last of Crowe’s hipflask and handed it back to his friend. After an experimental shallow breath, he looked at Dewhurst and nodded. With studied care but growing surety, Babington crossed the room to the door, placed his hand on Crowe’s shoulder as though guiding a drunken man and, with Sidney and Dewhurst following close behind, they began the short walk to the garden portico.


	3. THREE

* * *

_‘. . . Laffey will be a guest at Mayfair tonight. Please prepare his usual room with, I am sure you recall, good light to read by . . ‘_

The name Laffey in Lord Dewhurst’s note told Deacon all he needed to know and, as Dewhurst and Crowe knew he would, calm efficient Deacon immediately made the necessary arrangements.

Housemaids were sent to bring fresh sheets, linen and hot water to Lord Babington’s study. Two footmen cleared the study’s billiards table, removed the rug from underneath it and covered it with a heavy blanket then a waxed canvas cloth and finally a crisp white sheet. Another cleared the sideboard and desk and lit all the candles.

‘Tonight, is like any other night,’ Deacon said to the assembled maids and footmen once all was ready. He looked at each person in front of him in turn. ‘We look after our own and those who arrive as our own. You all know what is expected of you. Do that, do _only_ that and do it well.’

* * *

Babington just about made it up the steps to his front door, his hand on Sidney’s shoulder in an apparently friendly embrace was, in realty, the only thing that was keeping him upright. Once inside the empty hallway Babington staggered against his friend, struggling to keep his feet as the relief of being home and the intense, _intense_ pain finally overwhelmed his stubborn will. Immediately, Sidney turned into him to steady him, Deacon at his side a moment later.

‘Good evening, Deacon,’ Crowe nodded at the butler as he and Sidney arranged themselves either side of Babington.

‘Gentleman,’ Deacon was preternaturally calm, as always. ‘Monsieur Laffey and Lord Dewhurst arrived a few moments ago. They are ready for you in the study.’

‘Made it this far, Babbers,’ Crowe said gently as Babington looked at him, his eyes unnaturally bright with pain. ‘Ten steps and we’re there.’

‘Nearly there, Harry,’ Sidney echoed, trying to adopt Deacon and Crowe’s calm tone and just about managing. But Babington was deathly pale now, breathing laboured, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Sidney’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure he was shaking with it.

‘Any other guests yet tonight Deacon?’ Crowe asked as he and Sidney, carefully supporting Babington between them, followed the butler to the study at the back of the house.

‘Not yet, Mr Crowe,’ Deacon said as they reached the door.

‘Inform us of any that do arrive when you can, would you Deacon?’ Crowe asked as Dewhurst came forward to help.

‘Of course, sir,’ Deacon nodded.

‘Oh and, Deacon?’ Crowe carefully let Dewhurst take his place supporting Babington and turned in the doorway to face the butler again.

‘Yes, Mr Crowe?’

Crowe looked at Deacon thoughtfully, not wanting to belittle the man who had been at Babington’s side as much as he over the years and who had proved himself a hundred times over. But, whilst this was not the first time a doctor had arrived late at night at Mayfair, it was the first time they were called to attend Babington and the first time such secrecy was necessary.

‘Should you require my assistance over the next few hours, Deacon, you have it.’ Crowe kept his voice low. ‘Diversions and distractions do not always involve gunpowder after all.’

Deacon caught himself before he smiled too widely but then Crowe smiled too. Just for a moment, Deacon was back in a dark Parisian alley with a tinderbox in his hand, silently counting down the seconds. The maddening thrill of danger and excitement, the ridiculous calm of playing the hand dealt, not the odds of the bet. The complete trust in others to do what was needed and knowing they relied on you to do the same.

Babington had made it this far. They had both seen men survive much worse.

‘Thank you, Mr Crowe.’

Crowe nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Deacon.’

* * *

It had been a while now since Laffey had finished his work and Babington had been moved from the makeshift surgeon’s table to one of the pair long, deep settees in his study to sleep. Dewhurst had also left, gone to haunt gentlemen’s clubs until dawn to be sure that any gossip and rumours from last night did not include any mention of Denham, Babington and the garden terrace.

Sidney and Crowe were slumped at either of the settee opposite Babington. Sidney was managing to doze, fitfully, but Crowe was still feeling every bit as sober and alert as he had been since Sir Edward Denham had stumbled into view on the terrace at Carlton House hours earlier.

Thankfully, they had not had to hold Babington down as Laffey worked, the laudanum and exhaustion had quickly won out over the adrenaline and pain surging through him and Babington had slipped into a relief of unconscious.

As he had assisted Laffey in removing the bloodied bandages, memories that Crowe preferred to keep buried had stirred themselves awake as the smell of blood and obscene beauty of ripped human flesh had taken him back through the years to Paris and those nights when they had played the hand as dealt but the odds had been just that little bit too high. Himself and Babington watching helplessly the first time a friend had been badly injured as the blood seemed to keep coming and the pain seemed to intensify, but unable to look away from the macabre intimacy of surgery.

Himself and Babington. A decade ago, perhaps a little more, careless in the certainty of youth arriving in Paris with no plans beyond staying until the urge took them to move on. They ended up staying for well over a year and the colours of the days they spent there, even at the very end when the smell of blood and stink of adrenaline seemed to be on everything, burned peacock bright, blinding with extremes of the purest hues.

The foolish dizziness of coming off a night long winning streak and stumbling into the Paris dawn with three times more money in their pockets than they had the day before, knowing and not caring that they would probably lose it and win it back only to lose it all again in the days that followed. The timelessness of dinners with friends of years and just met friends of friends that lapsed into suppers and ended up on a rooftop watching the last star before daybreak burn its brightest as though it could light up the entire sky. The passion and heart of arguing and debating politics or poetry or philosophy with the burning zeal of youth when you cannot be wrong because you have to be right. The certainty of talking and laughing late into the embers of the day, confident that the coming one would be just as endless.

The air in the city had crackled and hummed, some days simmering with the danger of a powder keg, some days joyous with ideas and possibilities. They had met Dewhurst somehow, perhaps through shared acquaintance, perhaps through shared gaming table.

‘He’s involved in something,’ Babington had said after a few months or so.

‘What?’

‘Not sure,’ Babington had lapsed into quiet and Crowe had though him done. But then. ‘Just something. My cousin mentioned he may have helped her husband’s family somehow.’

Babington’s French-Austrian mother came from a large family and Babington seemed to have relatives spread across most of the continent, so Crowe hadn’t really thought much of it. Then one day, with a stillness of fury that Crowe rarely saw in him, Babington gripping tightly in his hand a letter bearing news that five of his mother’s cousins had been arrested and executed had confronted Dewhurst.

‘Whatever it is you are involved in. Whatever I can do to help. I. Want. In.’

Babington and Crowe had thought Sir Percy Blakeney nothing more than an entertaining foppish dandy when they first met him. Then a while after Dewhurst had dismissed Babington’s outburst as fanciful nonsense, Blakeney had fixed them both with bright, intelligent eyes, his expression serious instead of his normal dim-witted dandy.

‘I understand you wish to be of use?’

They were never as deeply involved as Ffoulkes, Dewhurst, St Just and some other members of the league. Weeks would go past sometimes without any contact and their Paris life would continue as normal. But then he and Babington, often Deacon too who was Babington’s valet at the time, would receive a message to visit safe houses, or run messages and errands between Calais and Paris, create distractions, take wounded men to Brodeur. Monsieur Brodeur a tailor who, in large workrooms above his shop, secretly repaired men as skilfully as he and his wife and daughter made their coats and shirts. Who treated everyone, regardless of loyalties or politics, and did not ask questions.

Sidney had bridled at Dewhurst’s talking about gameplay earlier. But, for all the of moments blood chilling terror, those months had been exhilarating. A game of chance and luck. And life.

The un nerving thrill of counting down the seconds until a fuse burnt out and reached the powder parcel; the muscle screaming relief when they would learn all had made it safely to the border or port; the deafening pulse of his heart hammering in his chest as they ran and ran through Paris’ alleyways and streets, tumbling into crowds so as to lose themselves or over walls and into yards or, on one memorable occasion, crashing through the first unlocked door and into a brothel whose madam faced down their pursuers with belittling disregard.

* * *

Crowe had not seen the end that was coming but, looking back, it had a spiked inevitability. The odds had seemed to get higher, the hands dealt to them weaker. More friends were being arrested and imprisoned. Killed. More nights spent at Brodeur’s watching and waiting whilst he and Laffey worked. Crowe, Babington and others helping where they could.

The end had begun on a washed out, ugly grey early morning in the yard of Monsieur Brodeur’s. Crowe’s shoulder tight with the familiar hum of growing bruises, hands heavy as he smoked a cheroot. Babington’s arms streaked with blood up to his elbows after a night assisting Brodeur and Laffey.

‘Deacon came back late yesterday.’ Babington had been staring into the distance as he spoke. ‘My father is ill. I must go.’

‘When?’

‘Sail from Calais tomorrow.’ Babington’s voice flat, heavy.

‘I will come with you.’

‘No, stay.’ Babington had said, glancing at Crowe with a small smile. ‘Stay with Therese.’

Crowe could still remember now the intimacy, beautiful beyond description, of stroking his fingertips down Therese’s body. The girl he loved above life. Tracing the shallow valley of her spine as she lay in his arms; the humbling, soaring privilege of knowing what it was to feel, as well as hear, her sigh his name.

Crowe had nodded then indicated his friend’s slight limp as Babington made his way to the water pump across Brodeur’s yard. It had been a week since and was improving. Still noticeable though. ‘How will you explain that?’

‘Fencing practice gone array.’ A shrug.

‘I’ll take yours if you take mine,’ Crowe indicated his shoulder from the night before.

Babington had huffed mirthlessly and nodded.

* * *

Babington’s father had died a week later.

Two weeks later, the day before Crowe was due to leave to attend Babington’s father’s funeral, Therese Brodeur and her father had been arrested. The morning after their execution, Crowe and Laffey had found Madam Brodeur dead in the workroom. There had been a lot of blood.

Within a month of that last morning in Brodeur’s yard, accompanied by an exhausted Babington and an ashen faced Deacon who had both made the crossing to be at the triple burial he chose _never_ to think about, Crowe had returned to England.

They had met Parker in London about a month later. He on the verge of the heartbreak that would shape the rest of his life, Crowe and Babington barely emerging from the wreckage of the experiences that had shaped them for the rest of theirs. The three of them finding a deep unspoken kinship in the gaps between themselves.


	4. FOUR

* * *

The Mayfair townhouse was enveloped in the unique stillness of the small hours long after midnight, the study within it filled with patient quiet and so when Babington groaned and shifted in his sleep, Sidney immediately startled awake and stumbled to his feet to check on his friend.

Crowe watched Sidney hover uncertainly over Babington for a few moments, reassuring himself more than anything. They both knew there was nothing they could do but wait. For a moment though, Crowe saw a younger version of himself in Parker; Babington’s study fading around him to become the eerily quiet workroom above Brodeur’s tailor’s shop in Paris when all there was to do was watch and wait.

Sidney came back towards the settee and sat on the edge. Crowe, unable for the moment to be so near this ghost of himself stood and, for the want of nothing else to do, poured himself a large brandy. He turned to Sidney who sighed and nodded.

‘Thank you,’ Sidney said as Crowe handed him the generous measure. Crowe slowly made himself resume his place on the settee. He found it helped not to look at Sidney and so kept his eyes on the blankets covering Babington.

They were quiet for a while.

‘Laffey?’ Crowe had known the questions would come and so did not immediately react when Sidney broke the silence.

‘We frequented the same tailor in Paris,’ Crowe said.

‘And Dewhurst?’ Sidney was less sure of this question. He had met Dewhurst through Babington and Crowe years ago and had never thought more. No reason to, until whatever it was happened tonight. Sidney was still not quite sure what he had been part of these last few hours.

‘Known him for years.’ Crowe said lazily. Then, knowing he needed to give a little more. ‘Very useful as he seemed to know everyone and everything in Paris. Brothels, gaming houses, bars, gambling dens.’ Then because tonight the memories were so bright and so close Crowe allowed himself to add, ‘we used to make quite the nuisance of ourselves with him and his friends.’

‘Tonight. What you all did,‘ Sidney spoke slowly and Crowe waited as Sidney navigated himself through his thoughts. ‘That was not the first time was it?’

‘Paris was a lively place back then. Revolution. Change.’ Crowe shrugged ‘It was advisable to know how to take a little care.’

To know how to bandage a wound, to know what message to send and where, to leave no trace, to be dismissed as nothing more than a dandy and drunk. To know how to linger and watch and yet make it look as though you were just part of the scene. To be able to keep secrets.

‘Babington’s mother is French, isn’t she?’ Sidney’s question sent a chill through Crowe. He had allowed himself to say too much. Revolution. Paris. Sidney was distracted with the heavy weighted troubles of his own at the moment, but the lines were there to trace if he saw them.

Crowe slowly sipped his brandy. Tonight was not the time to do this. They had met Sidney too soon after everything to say anything. Then Eliza. Then Antigua. Then too many years had passed by the time Babington and Crowe saw Sidney again. There had been no need, no point. Even now if, when, he and Babington ever told Sidney more, some secrets would always be kept.

‘Mmm French-Austrian,’ Crowe said thoughtfully.

‘I have never asked, he’s never mentioned it,’ Sidney began. Crowe knew what was coming next. Sidney turned to look at him. ‘But do you know if any of his mother’s family were . . ?’ Crowe kept his eyes on his glass. Babington had always remained silent on just how many members of his mother’s family had been lost in those years, Crowe knew of the five cousins, had indirectly learnt of two more and suspected there might have been others. Then there had been the friends killed or imprisoned. Crowe could name them all. They both could.

‘No,’ Crowe said, causally letting his gaze drift to Parker to gauge whether his lie was believed. It was almost choking him, so he hoped it was worth it. ‘Like you said, Babbers has never mentioned any.’ Crowe knew he had the late hour, the huge weight of other worries on Sidney’s mind and the brandy to thank when Sidney nodded slowly, apparently satisfied.

‘You have not been back since have you?’ Sidney’s voice was softening with sleep. ‘Either of you? To Paris?’

‘No,’ Crowe said, gently easing the conversation on its way. ‘I don’t know about Babbers, but Sanditon is more than enough entertainment for me nowadays.’

‘Hmm!’ Sidney huffed in amusement and seemed to doze off again, but then he remembered something and opened his eyes. ‘Why was I better attired?’ Crowe looked at him, frowning. ‘When you gave me the, the bandage?’ and he vaguely indicted his pocket and then Babington. Crowe nodded. ‘You said I was better attired?’

‘All black,’ Crowe said. Now it was Sidney who frowned. ‘Your clothes, Parker. Black coat and breeches, won’t show the blood if it had seeped through. Whereas I, in fashionable cream,’ Crowe pointed to his own breeches. ‘It would have shown.’

It was the same reason it was Dewhurst in his dark waistcoat, breeches and tailcoat, who had been on Babington’s injured side as they took him into the anteroom. Just one of the considerations Crowe had not even thought of for years and yet had come back to him with terrifying clarity.

Sidney’s breathing deepened as he slipped once more into an uneasy sleep.

Crowe drained his brandy, but he would not allow sleep. Not with these thoughts in his head.

No, they had not been back to Paris.

Not since.

Crowe tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He knew he would not sleep.

* * *

Sidney woke feeling as though he had not slept at all. If it had not been for the lines of early daylight edging across the floor under the shutters, he would have believed that time had not passed. Babington was still asleep on the settee opposite Crowe was still awake and slumped in very much the same position as he had been all night. Even the brandy glass remained in his hand, although now empty.

Sidney sat up slowly and scrubbed his hands through his hair, then stood and went over to Babington, relieved to see his friend still resting peacefully. Each hour that ticked away meant the chance of infection or fever lessened. Now Babington just needed to wake up. Soon.

Letting out a deep breath, Sidney glanced down at himself, the few spots of blood of the edge of his shirt collar and cravat, the large dry blood stain on his light waistcoat where Babington had lent against him as they came from the hallway into the study. He turned and looked at Crowe. ‘I need to go. Get back to Bedford Place,’ Sidney said regretfully. ‘Mary and Miss Denham will arrive in a few hours.’ Then, his voice heavy with the events of the evening, ‘You will send word when Laffey has been and if anything changes?’

‘Of course,’ Crowe took his time standing up, stiff from not moving in many hours. ‘He is due by ten, I’ll send to my rooms for a change of clothes in the meantime, rustle up some hot water from Deacon.’ Crowe glanced at the clock on the sideboard then back at Sidney. ‘I will come to Bedford Place later once Dewhurst gets here. I would not leave you to tell Miss Denham on you own.’

Sidney nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he smiled and looked down at Babington. Then, as his mind drifted back over the past few hours he frowned and looked back at Crowe. ‘When this is all resolved,’ Sidney said, buttoning his coat to cover his waistcoat. ‘I would hear more of your time in Paris.’

Crowe laughed quietly. ‘Make sure you get us drunk enough to tell you about some very enlightening literature we discovered. The future Mrs Sidney Parker would be most grateful.’ Crowe was relieved when Sidney sighed in disbelief but then grinned despite of it, breaking the tension of his searching gaze.


	5. FIVE

* * *

For all that he wished he could stay with Crowe and wait for Babington to wake, Sidney was very much looking forward to seeing Mary, the woman who was more sister than sister-in-law to him, and was anxious to be back at Bedford Place well in time to greet her and Esther. Their arrival was planned for early afternoon, Eliza was hosting a party that evening and Sidney had requested they arrive in time to attend.

Since arriving in London looking for investors, Eliza had proven to be invaluable to Sidney. He had always known Eliza had wanted more for her life than being a wife and mother. Seeing her now, moving through the very highest levels of London society with consummate ease and confidence, introducing Sidney to people she knew would be interested in at least listening to what he had to say, it was clear she had achieved it. 

In many ways she was as Sidney remembered her. The same shrewd mind and calm, confident demeanour that he had admired so much in her. But there was an air of untouchability about her now, one that came from holding a position of influence in society, people listened to Eliza when she spoke and she knew it. 

‘This is so invigorating Sidney!’ Eliza had laughed in delight as an acquaintance of hers had enquired about taking an apartment in Sanditon merely because she had spoken to them about it. ‘Why did you never tell me your business dealings could be this much _fun_?!’

‘Maybe Tom should employ you as an agent.’ Sidney had been joking.

‘I look forward to receiving his terms of contract.’ Eliza’s eyes had been bright with possibility suddenly. Her shrewd mind coming to the fore. ‘I am serious, Sidney. Draw up a investment contract for if I were to become a majority investor in Sanditon. Ensure the terms are favourable and I will give it very thorough thought.’

Sidney had written to Tom with an outline of ideas for securing Eliza’s investment. _‘. . . you have our complete confidence brother! . .'_ Tom had replied by return of post. ‘. . . _Whatever you think best! . .'_

Eliza’s offer of investment was genuine and needed to be met with the correct response. Therefore, the hours before the reception at Carlton House had been spent ensconced in Babington’s library at Mayfair drafting an investment contract that would be too good to turn down. Sidney had negotiated a favourable return with the financiers and a guaranteed twice-yearly dividend. In addition, Eliza was to be gifted three apartments of her choice from the new development to use as she saw fit, renting them herself, offering them to friends, hosting visitors and guests. 

It would now take the lawyers a day or so to draw up the final agreement for Sidney to present to Eliza. It was just business Sidney had had to keep reminding himself, no other investors had come forward with anywhere near as much as Eliza had. But it felt like he was selling his family’s heart. Tom may have broken it but the fact that Sidney could not fix it whole again, after all his family had done for him, weighed heavy on his own heart. The development of Sanditon was a Parker endeavour, from vision to fulfilment, and what Sidney was offering to Eliza would effectively render them powerless and voiceless whilst Lady D and, to a much greater extent, Eliza would hold much more say over final decisions. Eliza was _a_ society hostess in London, but if she agreed to the terms, she would become Mrs Eliza Campion _the_ society hostess in Sanditon. Effectively, Sanditon would be to her as Brighton was to the Prince Regent, a playground and escape from London that, if she choose, could be built to her almost every whim.

This was why, once Tom had professed complete trust in whatever he decided, Sidney had written to Mary asking her to come to London. Having her calm, wise presence beside him would, Sidney knew, help him beyond measure. Keep his mind focused so that he did not give Sanditon away entirely in sheer resigned desperation to have the investment but also remind his heart that Sanditon was just buildings and sand, not family.

Mary, wanting to avoid the rush of arriving at Bedford Place only to have to attend an evening engagement a few hours later, had enquired with Esther whether she would mind traveling the day before. Mary had written to Sidney informing him of the change and that they would arrive at Bedford Place whilst he was at the Carlton House reception.

Sidney had developed a habit of taking his letters with him every morning to read when he could throughout the day. A morning full of meetings, an afternoon drafting Eliza’s investment contract and the evening at Carlton House meant yesterday had been a busy day.

* * *

‘Sidney!’ Mary smiled and greeted her brother-in-law when he appeared in the dining room of Bedford Place where she and Esther were having breakfast.

Sidney, who had been set on a course of breakfast, bathe, shave, dress and then prepare for their arrival could do no more than stare at both women as the realisation of the situation began to dawn on him. He knew how bad he looked. Clothes rumpled from his fitful night on Babington’s settee, cravat draped around his neck, waistcoat and tailcoat now unbuttoned. He wished now he had at least accepted Deacon’s offer of hot water and shaving kit before he left Mayfair.

‘Mary!’ he managed after what seemed like an age. ‘Miss Denham. Forgive me, I expected you this afternoon.’

‘Good heavens Sidney!’ Mary exclaimed as she took in his appearance. She glanced at Esther and tutted indulgently. Clearly Sidney had had a very late night. Then Mary looked back at Sidney and something about his expression made her pause, slowly she rose to her feet and moved towards him, a questioning look in her eyes.

‘Ladies, I apologise,’ Sidney collected himself and inclined his head. ‘As you can see, I am not fit to be seen. I will go and change.’

‘Sidney, are you quite well?’ Mary had seen Sidney suffering the effects of a late night many times over the years, but there was something about him now that worried her. ‘Come, sit down for a moment,’ she said gently.

‘No, thank you Mary,’ Sidney said. ‘I am well, I assure you, I will re-join you directly.’ But Mary now had her hand on his arm stopping him leaving.

‘Sidney is that blood?’ Mary’s voice was low and she moved closer and touched his shirt collar. Now that she was looking for it, Mary could see the blood spots on Sidney’s cravat too. ‘Sidney?’ she said cautiously.

‘No,’ Sidney, anxious to reassure Mary, spoke without thinking. ‘No, it is not mine.’ He was sure he saw Esther flinch.

‘Not yours?’ Mary said cautiously.

Sidney took a deep breath and looked at Mary and then over her shoulder to Esther who was rising to her feet, eyes full of questions.

‘Come and sit down. Sidney,’ Mary repeated, gently slipping her arm through Sidney’s to bring him over to the table. ‘You look exhausted.’ She moved her arm to around his waist, attempting to comfort him and then smiled reassuringly at Esther, but her smile stopped as she saw Esther’s eyes widen and fix on Sidney’s torso. Mary followed her gaze and gasped. Upon putting her arm around Sidney, Mary’s hand had pulled back the edge of Sidney’s coat revealing the large blood stain on the waistcoat.

‘Not _yours_?’ Mary repeated as Sidney started to pull together some sort of comprehensive thought process. Mary looked at him closely, then her expression softened.

‘You attended the reception at Carlton House last night?’ Mary said calmly, trying to encourage Sidney to begin to explain.

‘Yes,’ Sidney smiled a little, grateful for Mary’s calm. Gently he took her hands and guided her to her chair. He took few paces to collect himself and then turned to Esther who was still standing, watching him closely. ‘Please, do sit Miss Denham,’ Sidney said carefully and moved a chair for himself near to Esther as she sat.

Esther looked at him guardedly and made herself sit absolutely still.

‘We attended Carlton House last night,’ Sidney glanced at Mary and then back at Esther. ‘There were many people there, hundreds. Sir Edward Denham was one of them.’ Esther did not appear to react. Cold dread was an invisible sensation. ‘There was an,’ Sidney hesitated. He had to tell her. ‘Miss Denham there was an altercation between Sir Edward and Babington. Sir Edward was drunk, stumbling and he broke his wine glass.’

Esther’s eyes dropped to Sidney’s waistcoat and the bloodstain on it and then looked back at him. Sidney held her gaze. He was finding her silence unnerving.

‘The broken glass was in Sir Edward’s hand and he stumbled. Babington was stabbe . . . the glass cut Babington, here,’ Sidney placed his hand on his left side feeling grotesque at imitating his friend’s action of the previous night. ‘Babington will be fine,’ Sidney could not get the image of Babington unconscious on the billiards table from his head and did not feel his words reassured Esther in the least. He took a breath and looked into Esther’s eyes ‘But he was injured quite badly, the cut was deep.’

‘ _Harry_.’ Esther’s voice was so quiet, almost a nothing of a breath that Sidney could not be certain her had heard her.

‘Sidney?’ Mary’s voice was full of concern, she placed her hand on his arm. ‘But with so many people attending, surely there must have been a doctor present to assist immediately?’

‘No,’ Sidney said, putting his hand over Mary’s. He was so glad that she was here. ‘Crowe and Dewhurst seemed to know what to do to get him away without alerting anyone. A doctor was waiting for us when we got to Mayfair.’ Sidney could feel Esther’s questioning gaze on him again and he scolded himself for cowardly looking at Mary instead.

‘Without alerting anyone?’ Esther’s voice was calm but nonetheless her question startled Sidney. His head snapped back towards her.

‘Yes.’ Sidney said. Crowe had walked a little in front of Babington as they crossed the garden. He had seemed sober in the anteroom and yet as they crossed the gardens, Crowe had clumsily twirled the empty claret glass in his hand, swerving and staggering his steps a little in the overly careful manner of a gentlemen elegantly drunk after a good evening. Babington’s hand on Crowe’s shoulder as though guiding him. Then the carriage journey through the London traffic had seemed never ending. Each jolt and bump registering in the painful grimace on Babington’s face. He had started to bleed through the bandages and Crowe and pressed his make-shift cravat to the wound whilst Sidney had torn the cloth from his tailcoat pocket into strips to bind over Babington’s waistcoat.

‘Because it was Sir Edward?’ Again that calm voice. Esther’s expression unreadable.

Sidney did not answer, but kept his eyes on Esther, trying to find a way to explain.

‘Babington is at Mayfair now?’ Esther asked.

‘Yes.’ Cautiously.

‘Excuse me, please,’ Esther moved so quickly, she was already at the door and across the hallway before Sidney realised.

‘Wait!’ Sidney stumbled to his feet, managing to catch his chair before he knocked it over. ‘Miss Denham, wait!’ Mary was quicker and reached the hallway before he did just as Esther was instructing Bedford Place’s butler.

‘ . . . coat and hat, and please arrange a Hackney carriage. Immediately.’

‘Yes, Miss Denham.’

‘Miss Denham,’ Esther kept her back to Mary. ‘Please, take our carriage. Let me come with you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Parker,’ Esther could not keep the tremor from her voice. She began to pace the hallway so she would not have to look at the kindness and concern that she knew would be in Mary’s expression. ‘But I could not possibly, a Hackney is more than sufficient.’ It would be quicker too, waiting for the Parker’s carriage to be prepared would take precious minutes.

‘Then let me come with you,’ Mary said as the maid appeared with Esther’s hat and coat. ‘Emily, please fetch mine as well.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Esther, glad of something to do, hurriedly put on her coat and took her hat from the maid. ‘Thank you, Mrs Parker.’

‘Miss Denham,’ Sidney said, crossing the hallway to her. ‘Please wait, allow me to change and I will come with you. Babington was sleeping still when I left.’

‘I am sure you are anxious for some rest yourself, Mr Parker,’ Esther put on her hat. ‘Please do not delay that on my account.’ She turned to face Mary and Sidney. No longer unreadable, Esther’s face was now almost luminously pale and pinched with worry, eyes large and dark.

‘A Hackney is waiting outside, Miss Denham.’

‘Thank you,’ Esther turned to go.

‘Miss Denham,’ Sidney tried one more time. Esther could not just turn up at Mayfair like this, she must be prepared. He needed to explain more.

‘NO.’ Esther turned and fixed Sidney with thunderous eyes, daring him to even think about trying to delay her further. Sidney took a step back, then another.

Esther flicked her gaze to Mary, softened her tone. ‘Thank you, Mrs Parker,’ she said, then turned and left.


	6. SIX

* * *

In the seclusion of the Hackney carriage from Bedford Place, Esther let the anger that Sidney had provoked flood through her. Anger, Esther knew, was stronger than the sickening fear that had threatened her and its strength gave her focus.

Edward had been drunk. Babington had been injured. Blind drunk or cold sober, Sir Edward Denham was more than capable of injuring others. Physically and verbally.

Normally physically, if not verbally, Sir Edward Denham was an elegant ballroom drunk, smooth and in control. The years of tutoring from the finest Italian fencing masters, lavished on the young Edward by his indulgent father, meant that Edward always kept his balance and moved with a careless surety even when very drunk.

In all their years living together, Esther had only seen Edward stumbling drunk once. It had been soon after Clara’s arrival at Sanditon House, Edward had spent the afternoon drinking heavily and by evening had been angrily drunk and bitter, stumbling through Denham Place ranting about the interloper who now threatened what he _knew_ to be his. Esther had grown bored of his circular arguments and taken herself to bed. The next day Edward had had no recollection of his tirade, was surprised to discover that some items had been broken by his hand.

There had been another incident, a year or so earlier. A gentleman had called at Denham Place demanding satisfaction for ‘the grievous harm caused by Sir Edward.’ Edward had no recollection of the altercation he had supposedly had with the man’s brother nor what he was alleged to have called his wife, but with a bored magnificence Edward had accepted the challenge to duel. Esther, her heart in her throat, had watched from the window the next morning as just within her sightline in a show of skill his Italian master would have been proud of, Edward had easily triumphed.

Esther could still remember Edward’s air of righteous superiority when he had returned to Denham Place. His victory never in doubt in his mind. ‘All or nothing, dear sister. Always _all.’_

* * *

‘Miss Esther Denham to see Lord Babington,’ Esther said when the elegant front door of Babington House was opened to her. She handed her card to the butler.

‘Good morning, Miss Denham. I am Deacon,’ Deacon bowed and stepped aside so that Esther could enter the hallway. ‘I am afraid you were not expected. Lord Babington is occupied with business involving his estate.’ he said, evenly.

‘I am aware of what Lord Babington is occupied with,’ Esther glanced quickly around the hallway and all the closed doors before turning back to look at Deacon. ‘I would thank you to show me to where he is, Deacon.’

‘I regret that that will not be possible, Miss Denham.’ Deacon said. ‘Lord Babington is likely to be occupied for the rest of the day, but if you would like to leave a note, the desk in the Library is at your disposal. I will ensure Lord Babington receives any message immediately his business is complete.’

‘No,’ Esther said, her voice firm. ‘I know of the events of last night. I would like to see Lord Babington. Now.’ 

‘I apologise, Miss Denham,’ Deacon would not allow anyone, and he knew who Miss Denham was to Lord Babington, to override his instructions and instinctive caution with such a vague statement. ‘But Lord Babington is not to be disturbed under any circumstance.’ Deacon gently raised his arm, ‘please, allow me to show you to the Library.’

Esther did not move but tilted her head slightly and regarded Deacon intently for a moment.

‘Do you wish for some proof of my knowledge?’ Esther asked. Calm, icy authority. ‘Would you like to hear what I have been told of the misadventure involving Sir Edward Denham and a broken glass in its entirety? Or is it sufficient enough to be able to describe Mr Parker’s appearance this morning in minute detail, inclusive of exactly what his clothing was stained with and where?’

Deacon’s expression did not change but he took a fraction of a second to consider his options. His first loyalty was to Lord Babington and the secrecy his situation required. Deacon was aware that Lord Russell, who had arrived very early this morning to stay in his usual room, was still upstairs blissfully unaware of events and could come across this scene at any moment. However, it was clear that Miss Denham knew more than Deacon had thought, if he could convince her to come to the Library Mr Crowe could be informed. ‘Miss Denham,’ he began. ‘If you would allow me to show you to the Library to wait, I will endeav- ‘

‘If you will not take me to Lord Babington, Deacon,’ Esther’s eyes flashed, her voice now low and quick with anger. ‘I assure you I will search _every_ room in this house until I find him.’

The sound of a door opening echoed down the hallway. Esther whirled round to see a bemused looking Crowe coming towards them.

‘Miss Denham,’ Crowe bowed. ‘An unexpected pleasure,’ then he tilted his head and looked at Esther, suddenly realising. ‘As I suspect you were for Parker also?’

‘Yes,’ Esther snapped, looking warily at Crowe, she had not considered Crowe would still be here and he looked a lot fresher in linen and clearer in thought than Sidney had been. Esther readied herself for another battle of wills.

Crowe frowned at her and nodded, almost to himself, apparently decided. ‘Deacon, I am sure you know who Miss Denham is to Babington?’

‘Of course, Mr Crowe,’ Deacon bowed to Esther. Esther’s eyes briefly flicked from Crowe to Deacon and back again.

‘Miss Denham, you understand that Deacon here is under firm instruction to admit no one. I can assure you Babbers’ own mother would have met the same.’ Crowe said.

‘I would see Babington,’ Esther drew a shuddering breath. ‘Now.’

‘Thank you, Deacon.’ Crowe nodded at the butler and then smiled at Esther. ‘Miss Denham, Babington is in the study. Shall we?’ The change from refusal to admittance was so calmly and suddenly achieved that Esther stared at Crowe in disbelief for a moment before nodding sharply and following him down the hallway to the room he had come from.

‘You just missed the doctor,’ Crowe said quietly as he opened the door for her. ‘But I can report that Babbers is well on his way to a full recovery.’ Laffey had been highly satisfied with how the stitches were looking, declared himself to be an excellent surgeon and Babington to be a lucky rogue, then clapped Crowe on the shoulder informed him Babington could be safely moved and that they would all live to a good old age and left with a promise to call again tomorrow.

Esther was barely listening, the fear and dread was rising in her again. Her eyes flitted quicky around the room, trying to distract herself, wishing Crowe would leave.

She made herself concentrate on where she was. The study. The shutters were half closed still but the room was freshened with a light whispering breeze from an open window. At the furthest end was a billiards table and immediately to her left was a large desk. In the middle, to her right were two long high backed settees. The one facing her was empty but had clearly been recently occupied.

‘He is yet to wake,’ Crowe was saying as he shut the door and moved past her and stood at the head of the settee that faced away from her, looking down for a moment. ‘But now the doctor has been, and once Lord Russell has left, Babbers can be moved upstairs.’

Esther moved to stand beside Crowe, the settee’s occupant coming to view as she did so. Babington was lying on his back, covered with blankets and wearing a fine linen nightshirt. His head was turned away from her, towards the settee’s high back, eyes closed. His right hand resting on his chest, left by his side.

‘I must send word to Dewhurst and Parker and then try to expedite Lord Russell’s departure.’ Crowe said, he glanced at Esther, then continued. ‘As nothing about this event has been usual, and, if you are in agreement, I will leave you for a short while Miss Denham. If Babbers does wake and decides to indulge in some light flirtation, I am sure it is well within your talents to rebuff him.’

Esther nodded and Crowe looked at her closely for a moment then, still full of relief from Laffey’s confident assurances that Babington was going to be fine, grinned reassuringly and turned away.

The door clicked shut behind Crowe and Esther dropped to her knees beside Babington. With no more reason for control, all the fear and dread now flooded over Esther and she covered her mouth for a moment to stifle her sob, dropping her chin to her chest as the tears began to fall. 

This was what their engagement had reduced Babington to. Hiding in his own house, forced into life threatening secrecy. Esther did not doubt that Edward, stumbling drunk, had little or no recollection of what passed but also had _no_ doubt he would have approached Babington only because of their engagement and the perceived protection Edward believed it gave her. Edward had lost everything and yet his step-sister was to be untouchable because of Babington. Edward, once set on a dislike, would let his hate become almost part of him, acted on as though muscle reaction, no sober thought required.

That hate had bought this, and the myriad possible consequences rippled out with smooth disregard to the havoc they could leave for Babington, for Sanditon, for the Parker family. For herself.

Esther drew several shaky breaths and tried to bring her tears under control. With trembling fingers, she fumbled the fastening of her coat and removed her hat, placing them both on the settee behind her and then settled again on the floor at Babington’s side. Very gently, watching him for any reaction, she reached out and stroked her fingers over Babington’s temple and down his cheek.

Babington did not stir, his breathing remained steady and peaceful. Echoing Sidney’s earlier action Esther carefully ghosted her hand over Babington’s left side, the fine linen of the nightshirt he was wearing meant Esther could clearly make out the bandaging wrapped around Babington. Her tears fell anew as she remembered just how large the stain had been on Sidney’s waistcoat. There must have been so much blood. So much pain.

‘You are far too good for this, Harry,’ Esther murmured, her words uneven with tears. She took Babington’s hand and held it between hers. ‘Too good for any of this.’

* * *

By the time Crowe returned, Esther’s tears had dried, but she had not moved from her position on the floor, Babington’s hand held in hers.

‘Still asleep?’ Crowe asked.

Esther looked up at him, apparently unperturbed at being found in such a comparatively intimate position and nodded.

‘Probably best, it will make the move easier on him.’ Crowe said. ‘Russell is just leaving now,’ a smile played his lips as Crowe recalled his ‘accidental’ stumbling noisily into Lord Russell’s room on the ‘drunken assumption’ that it was empty. Deacon had been particularly magnificent in his profuse apologies to Russell.

‘Deacon and I will see Babbers settled upstairs, Miss Denham,’ Crowe continued. ‘Then I am at your disposal as I am sure you have questions, as erudite as Parker’s explanation doubtless was.’ Crowe was not about to explain how they had got Babington home unobserved but was more than willing to describe the evening’s events and the reasons behind the need for secrecy. Although he strongly suspected Esther was all too aware of these reasons.

‘Thank you, Mr Crowe,’ Esther said quietly, her eyes remaining on Babington.

A while later, Esther listened as Crowe retold the events of the previous evening. Babington not rising to Edward’s provocations. Edward drunk, stumbling, accusing and then turning and walking away apparently oblivious.

Such damage from something that was not even meant.

Cold realisation, like the cold dread of earlier, gradually took Esther in its invisible hold.


	7. SEVEN

* * *

A few hours later and the dining room at Bedford Place had long settled into a hesitant calm. Crowe’s latest dispatch from Mayfair, his third of the day, had done much to put minds at rest ‘ _. . . No change. All well. Dewhurst reports no hint of any rumours . . .’_ and Sidney now long since washed, shaved and changed sat with a ledger and pile of correspondence trying not to watch too closely as Mary read through the investment contract he had drafted for Eliza. Mary knew all already of course, through Sidney’s letters to Tom and herself earlier in the week. Familiar with all the details and terms that were, even at the this very moment, being finalised under the efficient pen of Sidney’s lawyers a few streets away. But Sidney somehow felt better having Mary read the draft contract. He and Babington had written and re written and read and re read each line twice, thrice over and Sidney wanted a family member to know it too.

‘This is good work, Sidney,’ Mary smiled gently at him as she turned the pages. ‘It is all as you said it would be.’

Sidney acknowledged her praise with a small nod, but he still watched as Mary finished reading.

‘When do you hope to present it to Eliza?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow, I am collecting it from the lawyers tomorrow morning then I have an appointment with Eliza and her financial advisor in the afternoon.’ Sidney said laying down his pen and attempting to blink away the tiredness pricking at his eyes. Those few snatches of sleep he managed to get on Babington’s settee were feeling less and less effective as the day ticked past. ‘I should imagine Eliza will then want to take a day to consider it fully before signing.’ Sidney had allowed for this, pushing his lawyers to finish the contract quickly, but even so Lady D’s week deadline would be all but over by the time Eliza’s signature was on the contract.

It would be close, but it would work. Just. And Eliza had given every indication that she would sign, why else would she continue to introduce Sidney to her friends, why else would she continue to gracefully mention Sanditon to people she thought might be interested.

But Sidney knew no business agreement could be considered assured until all was signed. If Eliza decided not to invest and walked away then Sidney, unbeknownst to his family, had the paperwork in place ready to sell his shares and liquidate all his business assets. He would give up his London life entirely and move to Sanditon, stand with his family and do everything in his power with them to delay the inevitable. Babington and Crowe had discretely mentioned to one or two acquaintances what could become available from Mr Sidney Parker’s businesses and so finding a buyer would not be a problem. But even with the best price his advisors assured they could get, it would be a minute sum against what was needed. Eliza was the only investor who could save his family now. His friends had already given all they could, in every way.

Mary, watching Sidney as he descended into deep thought, reached across and placed her hand on his arm.

‘This is _good_ work, Sidney,’ she said again, laying the contract down in front of her and smiling as Sidney looked up at her. ‘And gives Eliza so many options she would be foolish not to see the opportunity. She will see it, I am sure of it.’

Sidney sighed and nodded. Mary knew Eliza perhaps better than any other in his family, the two of them finding an acquaintance for a short while in their both being incomers to the Parker clan all those years ago. Back then Eliza’s shrewd mind and restless desire to go out and greet the world, rather than waiting for it to come to her, were inspiring and never used at the expense of others. The untouchability and entitlement Sidney had begun to see in Eliza since their reacquaintance was an unpleasant development of these once admirable qualities.

‘But, Tom –‘ Sidney began.

‘Tom trusts you,’ Mary interrupted him. ‘He knows what you are offering Eliza, we all do. Sidney.’ She looked at Sidney closely. ‘And we all also understand what you are offering Eliza too. You are doing the right thing, Sidney.’

Mary squeezed Sidney’s arm gently and he laid his hand on top of hers. Mary knew there was no other option but to sell Sanditon out from under themselves. Tom had seen it too after Sidney’s first few days in London had proven unsuccessful. At least this way they could still live in Sanditon in the home they loved. Tom would still be a shareholder, albeit a very minor one, and had promised to be content with that and Diana and Arthur would still be nearby. Her family would survive this, Mary was resolute on that. Maybe, without the uncertainty of Sanditon’s future shadowing them, they would even flourish, grow.

‘What are your plans, Sidney, after this week is done?’ Mary asked carefully, lightly. ‘Will you come back to Sanditon for a while?’

‘Yes, to report the good news to Lady D,’ Sidney said mirthlessly. He sighed. ‘Then-’ he paused. Sidney had tried to stay focused these past few days. Find investors. Save Sanditon. Protect his family. Then . . . _then_. . . there was a conversation to finish. A hope in his heart. A possibility just there, just beyond the touch of his fingertips.

‘Then,’ Sidney continued, allowed himself a smile. ‘Yes, if you would have me, I should like to stay for a week or so.’

‘Sidney,’ Mary laughed. ‘You know you never need ask!’ Then she added, very carefully and so very lightly. ‘Everyone at Trafalgar House would love to see you.’

Sidney ducked his head back to the ledger and tried to concentrate on his work but Mary caught the widening smile as he did so. 

Sidney knew Babington was going to be fine, and Denham's time would come.

Sidney had every reason to believe Eliza was going to sign.

Sidney began to allow the hope. He was going to be able to have the conversation. Say those words. To her.


	8. EIGHT

* * *

Esther stayed as long as she could at Mayfair before returning to Bedford Place in late afternoon much calmer in mind, if not in heart, then she had been when she left. Esther knew she could not forego the planned evening at Mrs Campion’s. Babington’s absence would be excusable, but hers alongside his could raise questions from their hostess. The secrecy and pretence had to be maintained. For everyone’s sake.

There had been no change in Babington, sleeping away the day as Esther had sat and silently, methodically worked through scenarios and arranged her thoughts. She had regained herself after the heat of anger and cold grip of fear and dread and began to think clearly, logically. At her firm request, Crowe had told Esther all the details he could remember of what was said by Edward and she had realised what a naïve fool she had been, thinking any ties with her stepbrother had been severed by her dismissal of him at Midsummer. She knew now she had let herself be distracted, allowed herself to begin to love Babington and to believe in the life they could have together.

Babington had told her he would not allow her to be a victim of her stepbrother and she would _not_ be. But Esther would not allow anyone to be a victim on her behalf, Edward’s hate was hers and her Aunt’s to face down, not Babington’s. Babington would wake. He _would._ And when he did, Esther would do what was right for Babington and his life.

In the meantime, Esther would do as she had done all her life; take control of the decisions she could make, hide her heart behind her mind and wait.

* * *

Eliza Campion had hoped to secure the social coup of the first appearance in society of Lord Babington and Miss Esther Denham, newly betrothed couple, at her party at Grosvenor Square. However, as Sidney regretfully informed her when he arrived with Miss Denham and dear Mary, Lord Babington was unavoidably detained with a pre-arranged commitment.

‘Men!’ Eliza tutted and playfully scowled at Sidney before placing a compassionate hand on Esther’s arm. ‘They plan surprises without thinking through consequences! You should have mentioned your plans for having Miss Denham to London to Lord Babington earlier, Sidney! Then he could have ensured he would be free to be at Miss Denham’s side this evening.’

Esther met Eliza’s pitying gaze with calm silence.

‘No matter, Miss Denham,’ Eliza continued. ‘Tonight, you are all are most dear and particular friends of this house and, as much as Lord Babington _should_ be here,’ another playful withering glance at Sidney, ‘I insist you are to have a most enjoyable evening, regardless. Now,’ Eliza sighed, delighted as she surveyed the fashionable throng in her home, ‘who shall we introduce you to?’

‘Parker!’

Crowe’s call of greeting was almost lost in the noise of the room but registered in the slight flicker of disapproval on Eliza’s face. One hailed one’s friends politely, one did not shout in such a vulgar way. Especially in Grosvenor Square.

‘Mr Crowe,’ she said coolly as he approached. ‘I had thought you unavoidably detained also.’

‘Crowe? Ah Mrs Campion, tonight I have cast off that title and become Hermes, messenger of the Gods!’ Crowe grinned and, under the anxious gazes of Sidney, Mary and Esther, pulled two small notes from his pocket. ‘Or whomever the messenger of the Peers of the Realm is, I am he.’

Esther’s heart fluttered in relief and anticipation despite the tight control thought she had over it. After all those letters she had watched burn to ash in the grate at Denham Place, Esther would know Babington’s handwriting by a single pen stroke, never mind her name written in his hand as it was on the note Crowe handed to her with a bow before handing the other to Eliza.

‘How kind of you to deliver this in person, Mr Crowe,’ Eliza smiled. ‘And diligently to my hand when you could have so easily entrusted it to a footman.’ Eliza had no time to read apologies, no matter how elegantly written, from guests who could not attend and had ruined her plans for a social triumph. ‘Excuse me whilst I entrust its safe keeping myself.’

‘Do not make us ask, Crowe,’ Sidney growled as Eliza walked smoothly away and three pairs of expectant eyes turned on Crowe.

‘I came straight here from there,’ Crowe said quietly, grateful his man had thought to include his evening tails along with two changes of linens in the bag Crowe had requested be sent to Mayfair this morning. ‘Babbers was awake when I left, had been for a half hour. Tired and sore but he will soon be back with us.’ Sooner than he should be probably as had it not been for the combined efforts of himself, Deacon and Dewhurst, Crowe was relatively sure Babington would not have been prevented from accompanying him here, such had been Babington’s concern when hearing not only did Esther know what happened, but she had been at Mayfair most of the day.

‘Thank God,’ Sidney murmured feelingly as Mary sighed with relief. Esther stood a little apart from them now, silently luxuriously reading and re reading her name in his handwriting on the note she held, with apparently casual regard, in her hand.

‘Mrs Parker,’ Crowe bowed to Mary and offered his hand. ‘Might I have this next?’

‘Miss Denham?’ Sidney asked, taking a step towards her as Mary and Crowe joined the couples on the floor.

‘Thank you, but I suspect you and I are of one mind Mr Parker,’ Esther said. She smiled a little and looked at him with a resigned air. ‘There is nothing I would care to do less than dance tonight.’

‘Indeed,’ Sidney nodded, relieved. ‘Perhaps a walk on the terrace instead?’ A welcome delay on the start of more ballroom politics and small talk of Sanditon for him and a chance for some privacy for Miss Denham to read Babington’s note. Also, perhaps the fresh air might help him feel more awake as the tiredness that had been pricking Sidney’s eyes at Bedford Place was now scratchy in his head and would not help his polite conversational small talk with people who asked of ‘Sandton’ or help him concentrate on ignoring those who looked upon himself and Eliza with a strange wistful expression.

‘Thank you, Mr Parker.’ Esther said, taking Sidney’s offered arm.

* * *

‘. . . _It is with deep regret I am unable to join you tonight, my darling and that your first visit to Mayfair was not what I would have wished it to be. Come to Mayfair tomorrow and I promise you your time spent here, and with its resident, will be much improved from today._

_I remain yours,_

_Babington . . .’_

Esther just managed to swallow the smile that threatened as she read Babington’s note and she placed her hand across her chest momentarily to calm the rush of warmth in her heart.

He was far too good for this.

After remaining on the terrace in grateful silent companionship for the short length of time that would not cause gossip or rumour, Esther returned to the saloon on Sidney’s arm.


	9. NINE

* * *

For the next hour or so Esther became, by intent, a guest who was seen but not remembered. Esther could make herself forgettable just as she could be icily dismissive or poised with clever wit. Tonight she did not want to be memorable to anyone and so Esther said nothing whilst words came politely from her mouth, asked short questions that would lead to long answers she need not listen to and, when possible placed herself in the company of Mary, Sidney and Crowe or appeared to be greatly absorbed in watching the dancing.

Forgettable but not invisible.

‘Your fool not in attendance, Miss Denham?’ Sir Edward Denham. Tall, elegant. Suddenly nonchalantly close beside her. ‘I thought to find him at your side.'

Esther disguised her startlement and disgust with absolute ruthless efficiency over herself and merely sighed in lazy exasperation at her stepbrother. Edward smiled at her disregard then glanced around, looking for Babington before turning back to Esther.

‘Or is it, dear sister,’ Edward continued, ‘you could no longer bear his mindless, cloying affections and have dismissed him to the smoking room?’

Esther took her time taking a glass of champagne from a passing footman, her hand completely steady. It was clear now her stepbrother had no memory of what had occurred between himself and Babington. He would have announced his hideous triumph at his first sight of her if he did.

‘Such hatred, Sir Edward,’ Esther said, her voice flat, bored. She would maintain her composure, no matter the provocation and the fact her skin itched with revulsion at Edward’s close proximity.

‘Such delusion, Miss Denham,’ Edward sighed and took a glass for himself, waving the footman away as he did so and stepping in front of Esther, wanting her to look at him rather than past him. Esther merely took a slow sip from her glass and somehow managed to look through him. Edward smiled seeing the challenge, he would get a reaction from her.

‘Scandal, ruination, it will come to you, dear sister. Sooner or later. Then can you not see what will happen?’ Edward said with wearied pitying certainty, as though these words were oft repeated by him and he was having to explain it for the hundredth time. ‘All, even your fool, will be forced to acknowledge the truth of it and you. Your fool will walk away, for his family’s sake as well as his own. Then I, the vindicated rightful heir will be humbly back at Aunt’s side. Old age, or more likely, shock will come for her and that, dear sister,’ Edward leaned closer to Esther. She did not move, nor even flinch. Fear for Babington. Dread at what schemes and plans she knew Edward capable of after their years together. Invisible sensations. ‘That will leave you. Alone.’

Edward straightened up slightly and his eyes drifted over Esther. ‘So, if I were you, I would start learning how to have your fool pay you better for your company.’ Edward tilted his head and regarded the pearl strands entwined in Esther’s hair, the small pendant at her throat. Both, unrecognised by Edward, lent to Esther for this London trip by their Aunt. ‘As although those pearls do look well on you, you are selling yourself cheap, dear sister. I am sure you can _tease_ more out of him whilst you have the chance.’

Sidney, fighting tiredness and boredom deep within an ever-changing circle of Eliza’s friends, suddenly saw what was happening from across the crowded room. The uneven rush of circling couples on the dance floor giving him intermittent flashes of a clear view of Denham towering over Esther, barely maintaining a decent distance from her.

‘Have. Him. Removed,’ Sidney quickly bent and whispered sharply into Eliza’s ear. Eliza smiled benignly at her friends, pretending it a shared confidence, and gently turned away from them, towards Sidney. She followed his rigid gaze towards Sir Edward Denham.

‘Sidney! For what reason?’ Eliza laughed. She could not see who Edward was speaking to, his height obscuring her view. ‘Sir Edward is the companion of Lady Ancaster and welcome in this house.’ Eliza smiled at Sidney, misunderstanding his sudden demand. ‘Such arrangements are common nowadays. You have been away too long from London society.’

‘Have him removed,’ Sidney snapped quietly. His tiredness adding irritation at Eliza’s incomprehension. ‘Or I shall do it myself.’ The edges and ends of Sidney’s words caught the attention of Crowe, emerging from the smoking room just beyond Sidney’s group.

‘You will do no such thing Sidney!’ Eliza’s tone was now sharp, low. ‘We are not in the taproom of some inn.’ Then she smiled again, lightly slipping her hand through Sidney’s arm to pacify him, explain how things were done in London. He would need to be less judgemental if he were to survive in fashionable society and promote Sanditon. ‘If you are that offended by their arrangement, then just ignore them. Lady Ancaster never stays anywhere very long. They shall remove themselves within the half hour I assure you.’

Sidney felt trapped. He would cross the room, drag Denham out by his collar and beat him bloody in the centre of Grosvenor Square in a heartbeat. His own reputation could go to hell for all he cared. But.

Damn Tom.

Damn Sanditon.

Damn Eliza’s hoped for investment.

Eliza’s hand was now tight on Sidney’s arm and he felt it as though an anchor chain, holding him in place. He glanced over at Denham again, standing dangerously close to Esther almost completely hiding her from the room. Sidney forced down his anger, thought through his tired frustration. He could not hit Denham, but he could ask his friend’s fiancée if she would care to dance. He made to move Eliza’s hand from his arm but then saw Crowe meandering across the room.

‘Perhaps try for diamonds, dear sister,’ Edward said, oblivious to Sidney’s scowl boring into his back and Crowe’s deceptively leisurely approach. ‘I am sure your fool is pathetically grateful for whatever favours you give him. But diamonds you will have to _earn_ , even from him.’ Edward reached out and slowly ran his finger down Esther’s gloved arm, then placed his hand on hers that was resting on the back of the chair beside her.

Esther looked at him now, rather than through him. Ignoring the vile insinuations, she twitched her hand under his in cool annoyance.

‘You presume a familiarity that is not yours, Sir Edward,’ she sighed.

‘Oh, we both know I can claim great familiarity with you,’ Edward smirked. ‘Much greater than your fool.’

‘You once presumed a distorted claim, Sir Edward, but never _had_ and do not have.’ Esther paused, took a bored sip from her glass and, looking Edward straight in the eye, turned his insult back on himself. ‘Now, I would ask that you be kind enough to remove your hand and stop wasting your expensive time.’

‘Sir Edward!’ Edward angrily turned around at the sound of his name, half expecting Babington and so taking his hand from Esther’s. He found himself glaring at Crowe who, taking the informed risk that Denham remembered none of the insults thrown at him on Carlton House’s terrace, merely smiled and began to slowly search his pockets. ‘Such chance to see you here,’ Crowe said. ‘I would call in that promissory note of yours. 10 guineas I believe it was.’

‘Crowe,’ Edward snapped, he looked at Esther who appeared as bored by this interruption as she had by their conversation. Then Edward remembered something and laughed. ‘That note is but a day old!’

‘Your memory is shocking, Denham!’ Crowe sighed, and pulled his pocketbook from his tailcoat, removing two handwritten notes from it. ‘I am referring to this note from a week ago. Last nights was 30 guineas but I shall take it all from you now if you have it?’

‘I have other calls on my income at present, Mr Crowe,’ Edward said a little too quickly. Barely glancing at his handwritten notes in Crowe’s fingers. ‘You have my word that all shall be paid in time.’

‘Perhaps you prefer to win it back from me now?’ Crowe offered companionably. ‘Let us find a table and some cards.’

Edward hesitated and drank slowly from his glass. Attempting to win back the 10 guineas had resulted in owing the additional 30 last night. Crowe was damnably lucky at cards. In addition, if Crowe were here and Parker too then Esther’s fool would not be far away. Edward had no desire to see that fawning buffoon until he absolutely had to. And for a reason of his own choosing.

‘I fear I have not the time this evening, Crowe,’ Edward vaguely indicated Lady Ancaster across the room. ‘We are due at Richmond.’

Crowe smiled and nodded slowly as Edward rushed his farewell courtesies and moved towards Lady Ancaster.

‘Mr Crowe,’ Esther greeted him formally as he came to stand beside. Esther and Crowe watched as Edward whispered something in the ear of Lady Ancaster and he smiled as she blushed then took his offered arm.

‘I could not bear to look at Denham a moment longer, my apologies if I interrupted anything.’ Crowe said with an overly sincere tone on his words as he watched Edward and Lady Ancaster make their way towards the door. ‘But, unlike Parker, I can never be bothered to remove people myself. So much easier to have them remove themselves.'

No longer needing to maintain her strict composure, a small smile flickered across Esther’s lips. But then Crowe saw the glass in her hand tremble very slightly before she elegantly adjusted her hold and it stilled.

‘I have a mind to move on from here, other gatherings to be seen in,’ Crowe said lightly, glancing away from Esther for a moment and surveying the room. He turned back to her. ‘I am sure the driver could be persuaded to make a detour to Bedford Place if you would care for an escape route, Miss Denham?’

‘More than you could possibly imagine, Mr Crowe.’ Esther said, with a candour that surprised Crowe. She was not looking at him and he followed her gaze, intrigued. She was watching Mary. Esther knew Mary had worried over this evening and how important it was to attend. Sidney must be supported. Eliza must be indulged. ‘But I will stay,’ Esther turned to Crowe. ‘Thank you.’

‘In that case, shall we join the floor, Miss Denham?’ Crowe held out his hand. ‘Or perhaps we can rustle up some pairs for a card game?’

‘I am sure you would find better company at another gathering, Mr Crowe.’ Esther said. It was she that was now surprised by him and she slid a tone of light dismissiveness over her words.

‘You are mistaken if you think I attend gatherings for the company and not the wine, Miss Denham,’ Crowe said matter of fact. ‘Mrs Campion keeps a good cellar and dancing and gambling both work up a terrific thirst.’

A wide, genuine smile, almost laugh, from Esther as she saw straight through him confirmed to Crowe what he had been slowly realising all day. 

Babbers was going to be just fine with Miss Esther Denham.


	10. TEN

* * *

Sleep was a long time coming for all three inhabitants of Bedford Place when they returned from Grosvenor Square.

Sidney, unable to sleep for a heaviness that seemed to sit on every part of him whilst his brain raced with plans and contingencies as though it could outrun all.

Mary, restless and so reading and re-reading notes from her children that had been tucked, unseen by her, into her luggage by her husband’s kind hands. Occasionally tracing their carefully formed letters with her fingers, smiling fondly at their dear drawings. Resolute and cautiously summoning up in herself a little of the optimism her husband’s accompanying letter overflowed with.

Esther, lying quite still in the dark, meticulously arranging and rehearsing words, heart safely concealed behind her mind. Her encounter with Edward had been more than enough to convince her that the realisation and decision she had come to in those long quiet hours waiting in Mayfair was indeed the right course of action to take. The only course of action.

* * *

Almost exactly a full day to the very hour after her first visit to Mayfair, Esther was once again standing on the front step of Babington House, awaiting Deacon’s answer to her knock.

‘Good morning Miss Denham,’ Deacon greeted her as he held the door open for her to enter the hallway.

‘Deacon,’ Esther replied.

‘If you would like to wait in the drawing room,’ Deacon began and Esther could not help but smile and raise a challenging brow at him. Deacon continued unperturbed, Laffey had only just left and Deacon wanted to be sure Lord Babington was fit to receive visitors. Never mind that Miss Denham had seen Lord Babington in his nightshirt the day before. ‘I shall inform Lord Babington of your arrival.’

‘It’s alright, Deacon,’ Esther was not prepared for the relief and happiness that flooded through her upon hearing Babington’s voice. She had to take a moment to catch herself before turning towards the study door, her eyes growing wide and bright as she saw Babington in its doorway looking pale and tired but very much alive, awake and standing.

‘Thank you, Deacon,’ Babington dragged his gaze away from Esther and nodded at Deacon who smiled, bowed slightly and walked away.

Esther stood absolutely still, just looking at Babington for a few precious moments, selfishly allowing her heart and emotions. It was so good to see him. She could feel her pulse thundering in her veins, hear her rapid breaths whispering in her throat. It was so good to have him look at her like that. To be able to feel . . . _this._

‘Esther,’ Babington said quietly.

Esther had to look away for a breath.

Carefully she smoothed her dress, tilted her chin and looked Babington in the eye.

‘Babington,’ Esther said, swallowing the tremor that threatened the word. She tried to even out her breathing and steady her racing heart as she began to walk towards the study, purposefully moving past Babington quickly as he held the door open for her.

‘Crowe said he and Parker told you what happened.’ Babington said as Esther came past him into the study. He closed the door, his movements slow but confident.

‘Yes, an altercation,’ Esther glanced around the room much changed from the day before. Gone was the quiet intimacy of the makeshift bed and half shuttered windows. The room was filled with morning sunlight, the settees neat and ordered, the desk busy with papers and pamphlets, a half-written letter on the leather pad.

‘No, not an altercation,’ Babington said. ‘Not so much as that.’ Something in Esther’s stance kept him from approaching her. Defensive, wary

‘No,’ Esther turned and looked at him. ‘So much more than that.’ To the casual observer, Babington appeared as a gentleman recovering from a very late night, careful in movement and casual but appropriate in dress. But, Esther realised, the looser fit of a Banyan and his waistcoat being less tight to the torso than usual prevented too much pressure on the bandaging. The careful movements favoured his right side over his left. Whilst perhaps not in pain, that he showed, it was clear Babington was in some discomfort.

‘Esther.’

‘You endangered your life, Babington!’ Esther said hurriedly, angry for Babington’s sake. ‘For _Edward_.’ She frowned at Babington, he should probably not be out of bed, she thought. He looked even more pale and tired in the bright light of the study.

‘No! No, _not_ for Edward.’

‘Because of Edward,’ Esther snapped, correcting herself. ‘Who, had it not been for your association with me, would have passed you by without comment.’ Esther took a calming breath, lowered her voice, this was not helping Babington. ‘You need to look to your own welfare, that of your friends. Your family.’

‘Do you think I had not considered them in this?’ Babington asked, his words sharp and edged with fatigue. ’And you. God, Esther. Always you.’ Esther’s softening tone had softened her posture a little and Babington moved towards her.

‘I have no need of your protection,’ Esther said, quietly but firmly, her heart aching as she realised he had misunderstood her.

‘Esther,’ Babington gently reached out and took Esther’s hand, dropped his head to meet her gaze, his voice growing with determination as he spoke. ‘Sir Edward will _not_ bring about the ruin my of friends and he will _not_ be allowed to think he has any hold over me. Or you.’ he looked at Esther. ‘Over _us_.’

But Edward did, he had proven that. And he had not even intended this. Esther tried to bring to her mind all the neat arguments and discussions she had had with herself. It had been so clear, she had rehearsed it, proven it correct time and again against all scenarios. But now she looked up at Babington. That absolute certainty of his. Maybe she had thought too hastily. Perhaps there could be a different course of action.

Despite her mind screaming at her to stop, very carefully, Esther slipped her hand from Babington’s and touched her fingertips to his left side. Yesterday she had done the same in fear and despair. Now perhaps the wound could be small enough that she could cover it with her fingers, her hand. Her heart. Somehow make Babington unmarked by Edward’s hate and her naivety.

‘What happens now?’ Esther asked, almost as if to herself.

‘Sidney must secure Eliza’s investment. He should know by tomorrow, perhaps the day after.’ Babington said, willing his heart to stop pounding quite so fast, his senses to stop fighting to be under Esther’s touch. ‘Sir Edward will be ignored until then.’

‘And after the investment is secured?’

‘I am sure you and Lady Denham have some thoughts on how Sir Edward should be dealt with. I know I do.’ Babington said, clearing his throat trying to focus on anything but Esther’s gentle fingertips on his side. ‘Whatever is required it will be my pleasure to provide, I will look to you and your aunt for instruction.’

Esther hesitated and then her hand dropped away from Babington. ‘I would have it over, finished,’ she stepped back, pulling her thoughts in to line. ‘But not at this cost, Babington.’ Esther knew her stepbrother, his hatred. Edward had talked with such matter of fact surety last night, he would scheme and plan and not stop until he had achieved his aim.

Esther looked at Babington, she _must_ do this. The lines practised into the darkness of her room at Bedford Place now came to her. ‘I shall make the necessary arrangements to return to Sanditon tomorrow,’ she began. Esther could not leave Mary alone tonight, waiting for Sidney to return from meeting Eliza.

‘Esther,’ Babington smiled, trying to reassure her, thinking she was removing herself so as to not be a distraction. ‘There is no need.’

‘Babington,’ Esther said, her voice firm. ‘Please consider the trouble our brief attachment has caused you. Edward is angry at me and at my aunt and now, by association, you. Accident or no, look at what he has already done. There will always be another demand another incident or scandal, regardless of what he is offered. He is capable of so much more, such schemes as you could not even think of.’

‘Just a few days, Esther.’ Babington was frowning now, her words worrying him. ‘Then we will -‘

But Esther was already stepping further away from Babington. She must not let him convince her and she knew that he could so easily do so. This man with his kind heart and selfless love who had made her begin to believe in what they could have.

‘I will not give any reason for the change in our engagement, if asked, beyond that it was my choice. My decision.’ Esther said, unable to say the words just yet.

‘Change? What change?’ Babington did not want to hear what he now feared was coming,

‘Lord Babington,’ Esther hesitated, this had the potential to break her, finally and forever, but she owed this man this much and more, ‘I release you from our engagement.’

‘Esther,’ Babington made to go towards her, but she moved yet further away. ‘Stop, please. Do _not_ do this.’

‘If you wish to make a reason public for our separation,’ Esther kept her voice even and kept her eyes on Babington’s, but she almost faltered at the pain she saw there, what she knew she was doing to him. Almost, but did not falter. ‘Please write to me and let me know. You do not need to consult with me, I will agree to whatever you choose. I will acknowledge your letter by return but beyond that you will not hear from me, or of me. I will live quietly. You need never think of me.’

‘I will _always_ think of you.’ Babington’s voice was cracked again by fatigue but deep with conviction. His eyes fixed on her.

Esther knew she would always, always think of him. She had to stop and catch her breath, pressing her nails into her palms to stop her tears.

‘Please, please think of yourself, Lord Babington.’ Esther could no longer prevent the tremble in her voice and she had to turn away, crossing the room to the door. She stopped, her fingers on the handle, but did not turn around as she knew she would not be able to stop her tears as she spoke if she did so. ‘Untangle yourself from this association whilst you can. Please.’

‘Esther,’ Babington’s voice was low, soft.

‘Please, Babington.’ Esther said quietly, but her voice sounded so loud to her in the quiet of the room. Cursing herself for a coward, Esther turned around as she opened the door and looked at Babington.

Babington drew a long breath that seemed to shudder through his body. His eyes so full of emotion, still fixed on Esther. She tried but couldn’t say anything more and only just managed to catch her sob in her throat as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

It took all of Esther’s iron self-control and every single moment from the endless deportment lessons of childhood with her governess for Esther to be able to walk calmly down the hallway to the front door and look Deacon in the eye.

‘Shall I call a Hackney for you, Miss Denham?’ Deacon asked as she approached.

‘No. Thank you, Deacon.’ Esther acknowledged Deacon’s bow with a nod of her head, then descended the front steps of Babington House, crossed the short driveway and joined the busy anonymity of Mayfair.


	11. ELEVEN

* * *

Babington watched the study door shut behind Esther.

Letting out a gasping breath as though winded he turned towards his desk, leaning forward and placed his shaking hands on the desk’s leather top as Esther’s footsteps died away down the hallway.

The unmistakable sound of the front door opening and the heavy finality of the thud as it closed a moment later.

Babington dipped his head and closed his eyes, his heart beating to two different rhythms; the echo of the rush of pure love he had felt when he saw Esther standing in the hallway and the present biting fire of pain of watching her leave.

There was no point going after her, not at the moment. Babington knew the layout of a stubborn nature well enough to know Esther would not listen to him so soon after such a decision made. And, as much as he had fought it, Babington was so physically tired he did not think he had the strength to follow and catch up with her.

He had been tired from the moment he’d opened his eyes this morning. Laffey had left instructions with Deacon to warn Babington that he would be. But Babington had not expected this bone deep fatigue.

‘You’re not aged nineteen running round Paris anymore, Harry, and that wound is deeper than the surface cut makes it appear.’ Laffey had chastised when he had found Babington up and dressed and not in bed this morning. ‘Give yourself time to heal.’

Babington leaned heavily on his desk and took a very deep breath, his bruised left side mumbling, agitated by the movement.

Time.

Sidney was presenting Eliza with the investment contract this afternoon. Then a full day for Eliza to consider. Two days at the very most as, come what may, Lady D’s deadline expired three days from now, on Saturday. Sidney’s plan was to return to Sanditon on Friday afternoon, late if necessary, but still in time for it.

Babington would write to Esther at Sanditon House and request to see her. Then, even if he had not heard from her, he would go with Sidney to Sanditon on Friday and wait. Request again to see her. Babington just could not let Esther go like this.

Not when she had looked at him like that in the hallway just a few minutes ago.

Not when, in a matter of days from now with Sanditon’s future secured, Sir Edward Denham’s time would come. Besides his own concerns, Babington knew Sidney was keen to ensure Denham stayed as far away from Sanditon as possible. Crowe too had taken an uncharacteristically strong dislike to Denham soon after the Regatta. Crowe either liked you or ignored you, never actively hated.

Sidney’s experience in negotiations and contracts would be invaluable as, in consultation with Lady Denham and Esther by letter initially if not in person, Babington intended to ensure Denham would not be allowed to continue as he was. Be it a legally binding pay off or, under strictly negotiated conditions, passage to a country of his, or his family’s choosing, Denham would not haunt anyone’s future.

Babington would wait. Give Sidney time to finish what he was so close to achieving. Give Esther time if she needed more than these few days, but he would see her again. Then, once everything was more settled with Sanditon and Denham’s future was clearer then, if after they had spoken she still thought that it would be best if they parted -

Babington straightened up as a knock on the study door interrupted his thoughts.

‘Yes,’ he called, unevenly. He had moved too quickly, forgot to indulge his injury. He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

‘Your sleeping draught, Lord Babington,’ Deacon said, coming through the door and pointedly setting a small tray on the desk in front of Babington.

Babington sighed and looked at his butler.

Deacon stood as though he had all the time in the world to wait.

Laffey had given strict orders to both Babington and Deacon this morning that Babington was to rest and had left a very mild sleeping draft with Deacon to aid the butler in ensuring this.

Deacon,’ Babington said levelly. ‘Thank you but there is no need. I do not need to rest that much.’

‘That is not what Monsieur Laffey said,’ Deacon replied. ‘Sir,’ he added, as an afterthought. Deacon had not approved when Lord Babington had rung for his valet at his usual hour and then insisted on getting dressed and greeting Laffey in the study.

Babington could be stubborn, but so could Deacon, and they regarded each other for a few moments.

‘Fine,’ Babington gave in, too tired in body and heart to stare his butler out. Deacon was too relived to feel triumphant. ‘But before I take this and go back to bed,’ Babington said. ‘I need you to do two things, Deacon.’

‘Of course, Lord Babington.’ Deacon said.

‘Arrange for some flowers to be sent to Mrs Campion with my apologies I was not able to attend last night,’ Babington said. There was no point in risking antagonising Eliza in any way at the moment. Deacon nodded. ‘And send a note to Bedford Place telling Sidney I still expect to see him here this evening if he wants to talk through how his meeting with Eliza went.’

‘Yes, Lord Babington,’ Deacon replied.

Babington thought for a moment, but any note he wrote to Esther today would like as not go unread straight into the fire, just as Esther would currently repel any advance he made in person. Besides, he had a feeling that anything he wrote to her now would be woefully incoherent. He would write to her at Sanditon House tomorrow.

Babington picked up the glass of sleeping draught. ‘If this renders me fully unconscious, Deacon’ he eyed the draught suspiciously. ‘Then I will need to be woken at five this afternoon.’

‘Yes, Lord Babington.’ Deacon said. He would prefer that Lord Babington rest the entire day and into the evening, but Deacon would take these few hours willingly given over the expected day long battle of wills he had prepared for this morning.

A short while later, back in bed with his body and heart aching, the dreamless oblivion of drugged sleep came to Babington as a welcome friend.


End file.
